


The Power of Stories

by BarPurple



Series: Twisted Tale as Old as Time [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark One Belle, F/M, Ogre Wars, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, deal making, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark One's price was laughably easy to fulfill. How hard could it be to find a story that she had never heard before?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Stories

The war against the Ogres had been going on for almost two decades. There was the odd season that brought a lull, but a full cessation was a distant dream. A whole generation had been born, grown, fought and died under the blood red smoking sky. The only benefit of that was that they would be the last generation doomed to such a futile existence, there were no more children left, the kingdom wasnow populated by the old, crippled and the nobles. The upper crust of society had fared much better than the common folk. There was no one above them to force them off to join the war that they had begun. There would be rebellion and dissent in the air if anyone had the energy for such thoughts.

The final desperate appeal for salvation came about because of a death and a birth. They say that when the King held his tiny new born daughter in his arms for the first time he wept, not the tears of joy a new father might be expected to shed, but tears of sorrow and pain for the wife lost in childbirth, tears of anguish for the world his daughter had been born into. The mewling cries of his motherless daughter shattered the King’s resolve and after twenty years of resisting he summoned the Dark One.

The Dark One was said to have many faces, but the one currently worn was that of a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and eyes bluer than a summer sky. She appeared when called and would offer all a desperate soul asked for, but there was always a price to pay. Her price for ending the war sounded simple;

“She wants a story that she’s never heard before?”

“That’s what the guards say. Doesn’t sound that bad, does it? She’s been known to ask for first born children.”

“Well she must know we don’t have any of those, except the Princess and the King would never part with her.”

The King and his court had been so relieved at the price the Dark One named they had laughed. Each noble offered a story, confident that one of them would have a tale that their Saviour hadn’t heard before. Days past; and each tale was rejected with a bored wave of the Dark One’s delicate, pale hand. Heralds were sent out to gather the townsfolk and a long line snaked from the throne room as each tried to tell a tale that had never come to the ears of the Dark One. 

All failed. 

The last man in the line was the lowliest being in all the kingdom, an outcast spat upon by even the beggars and thieves. The guard at the door to the throne room rolled his eyes and spat at the man’s feet as he approached.

“The kingdom is bloody lost if you are all we have left.”

The lame man kept his eyes on the floor as he was shoved into the presence of his King and the Dark One. The hissed whispers that greeted him weren’t as damning as the repulsed stares. Shaking with fear the man bowed as low as his crippled leg would allow. The King bit back a sigh.

“Dark One, I would not waste your time with this coward. Is there some other price you will accept?”

The trembling man kept his eyes fixed on the polished tiles at his feet. A silken rustling reached his ears and he flinched as pale fingers touched his chin and forced him to raise his head. He gasped, unused to human contact and shocked by the sparkling blue eyes that stared at him. A burning shame ran through him as he realized he was looking directly into the eyes of the Dark One.

“Let him speak.”

The sorceress return to her seat and inclined her head, a subtle order for him to begin his tale. He struggled to swallow his fear, forcing in down his dry throat to roil with the terror that lucking constantly in his guts. His tale began stammering and hesitantly, but under the gaze of those impossible blue eyes the words began to flow. He told a tale of a man proud to be sent to war, glad of the chance to bring honour to a family name too long damned by the sins of the father; he spoke of the stink of terror that hung heavy in the air of the frontlines; the cloying scent of blood and shit and burning smoke so thick that the soldiers at this man’s side became ghosts. He spoke of a letter from home that told the man of the impending birth of his child. 

He stuttered but found the words to describe the greater fear of death and leaving a babe without a father. He told of the agonising two blows from a sledgehammer, swung by the man’s own hands, which crippled him and sent him home to his family. He spoke of the cruel welcome of a wife that wished the man had died in war, a wife who left him when she could bare the shame no longer. He spoke of the revulsion and loathing that became the only thing this man ever saw in the eyes of others; in the eyes of all but this man’s son. 

He spoke of the love this man felt the first time he held his boy. He told of how this man couldn’t regret his cowardice, no matter how badly it reduced his circumstances. His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke of the pride this man felt as his boy grew up brave and strong, but how every joyful moment was tempered by the fear that one day his boy would be dragged into the never ending war.

The Dark One leaned forward in her seat as the fearful cripple before stammered to a halt.

“What happened to this boy and his father?”

“That depends on you my Lady. This man’s son was drafted today and will be on the frontlines by the morn, unless…”

“Unless this is a tale I have never heard before.”

“Aye.”

The Dark One sat back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the gilt inlaid armrest.

“Did you know there is a power in stories?”

The man nervously nodded.

“The more personal a story the more power it has. I think that you have just bared your very soul to me. Why would you do this?”

“Because my soul is the only thing I have to offer to save my boy.”

The Dark One rose once again from her seat and stepped lightly in front of the man. She could feel the pure terror rolling of him, but he still managed to meet her eye.

“This tale is new to me, but the power it gives me is incomplete. Do you know why?”

“Because I did not give you the man’s name.”

A smile lit up the Dark One’s face causing her eyes to sparkle.

“Here they call you Crookfoot, Spindleshanks, cripple and coward, but these are not your real name.”

“No my Lady.”

“Tell me your name, gift to me the power over your soul and I will end the war and peace will rule in this kingdom for a generation.”

The lame coward edged forward and whispered in the ear of the Dark One.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

The Dark One turned rapidly on her heels and curtseyed to the stunned King.

“Congratulations on your victory, your majesty. The war is over.”

She turned back and reached for the hand of Rumplestiltskin.

“Oh and make sure to be very kind to your new ward your majesty.”

“My new ward? I don’t understand.”

The Dark One rolled her eyes and tossed her hair.

“The son of Rumplestiltskin is to be raised as a prince and afforded all the education and luxury his new station entails. And don’t think I won’t be checking up on the boy. You don’t want to displease me, now do you?”

The King bowed low and with a giggle the Dark One and Rumplestiltskin vanished in a cloud of blue smoke.

 

The war with the Ogres ended after near twenty years, not because of a great army, or a noble truce, but because a coward freely offered his soul to the Dark One, Belle La Fay.


End file.
